


One Time Only

by DeathBelle



Series: Different Kinds of Dysfunctional [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Atsumu is annoying, Banter, Black Jackals, Explicit Language, Kissing, M/M, No one is surprised, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23140543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: A cheer rose up in the background. One of the teams must have scored. Atsumu didn’t know, because he wasn’t watching the screen. “If you ever decide kissin’ me might not be the worst thing you’ve ever done, let me know.”Sakusa glanced to the side but immediately away again, when he found Atsumu already looking at him.“I mean, you did fuck me,” said Atsumu conversationally. “Compared to that, kissin’ should be-”“Every single day,” said Sakusa, cutting him off, “you make me regret that a little bit more.”Atsumu continued watching him. “You mean that?”Sakusa didn’t answer.Atsumu thought that meant No.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Different Kinds of Dysfunctional [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663360
Comments: 92
Kudos: 2023





	One Time Only

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文-普通话 國語 available: [【佐久侑】下不为例](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25548310) by [trashcrusher020](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcrusher020/pseuds/trashcrusher020)



> This is a follow up to Wishful Thinking, but can be read as a standalone, also.

Atsumu would’ve thought, after he and Sakusa had fucked, that everything else would be easier. 

He was wrong. So painfully wrong.

“Omi-kun, come _ on _ ,” he said, practically vibrating as he struggled not to leap into Sakusa’s personal space. “You literally railed me into oblivion two weeks ago. I don’t know why you don’t even wanna sit close to me now.”

Sakusa’s nose scrunched in distaste. He inched a little further away, as if existing too close to Atsumu repulsed him. Maybe it did. He certainly acted like it, most of the time. “I never said I didn’t want to sit beside you.”

“You didn’t have to say it. I’m not stupid.”

Sakusa raised an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.  _ Aren’t you? _ echoed in Atsumu’s head, shaped in Sakusa’s voice.

“You flinch every time I get close to you,” said Atsumu.

“That’s because you’re disgusting.”

“Then why did you fuck me?”

“I had a temporary lapse in judgment.”

Atsumu frowned at him. “So you’re saying you wouldn’t do it again?”

Sakusa gave Atsumu a look that was indecipherable, but he didn’t answer. That was the one thing that bothered Atsumu most about Sakusa. Atsumu liked to talk, more often than he should, about anything at all. Sakusa could sit in silence for hours, and it was irksome, because Atsumu desperately wanted to know what was going on inside Sakusa’s head.

It certainly wasn’t fond thoughts of Atsumu, that was for sure.

Sakusa warily eyed the intensity of Atsumu’s face and moved a little further back. His elbow bumped the arm of the couch. He was out of room to retreat.

They were in Atsumu’s apartment, and it was a miracle that Sakusa had agreed to come there at all. Atsumu thought it was mostly because he’d repeatedly promised that he’d deep cleaned every surface, and he’d sent photographic evidence by text the day before. He’d tried to come up with a good reason for inviting Sakusa over. It was to discuss their last match, to strategize for the next one, to talk through some quicks they wanted to try.

But those were all things that they did at team practice nearly every day, and there was no good reason for them to meet up separately for that. Especially not alone, especially not at Atsumu’s apartment.

“I’m not even trying to get fucked right now,” said Atsumu, sitting back and giving Sakusa a little more space. “I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down. But like… you like me, right? You fucked me, so you must like me at least a little.”

“Those two things can be mutually exclusive.”

“Yeah, but you agreed to come to my apartment,” said Atsumu, gesturing at the cramped room. “You’ve never done that before, and I know you haven’t gone over to any of our teammates’ places. I asked around.”

“You’re a creep.”

Atsumu ignored that. “Point is, you like me.” He said it with absolute certainty, then wavered. “…Right?”

“I didn’t come here to stroke your ego,” said Sakusa. He sat with his arms folded tight over his chest, pressed as far into the corner of the couch as he could go.

“Why’d you come over, then?” Atsumu grinned. “Wanna stroke somethin’ else?”

“I’m leaving.” Sakusa was up and halfway to the door before Atsumu stumbled upright to follow him.

“No, wait. Okay, that was too far. Sorry. Don’t leave, though. I’ll stop talking about it, I swear.”

Sakusa’s glare was potent, but Atsumu had gotten used to it since they’d joined the same team. It didn’t cut him in half anymore, didn’t make him feel like he was filth on the bottom of Sakusa’s shoe.

Now it made him feel something different, something that made him think of two weeks ago when he’d been laid out underneath Sakusa, nude and vulnerable and awed that Sakusa would even think of him that way.

Of course Atsumu had always been interested in Sakusa. He’d never let himself think too much about it, because Sakusa was distant and unattainable and he knew he’d never had a chance.

But now he thought maybe he did, even if it was a miniscule one.

Sakusa said nothing, but he didn’t leave, either. That was encouraging. Atsumu was learning to hear in Sakusa’s silences the same things he heard in others’ voices.

“We can just hang out,” said Atsumu. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, trying to seem casual. “Talk or somethin’. I have a tv. Or we can order food, or… or whatever you wanna do.”

“That isn’t why you invited me over.”

“Sure it is. I just want you to be around, you know? Because we’re friends, or… whatever.” Atsumu didn’t know if that was entirely true, but Sakusa didn’t correct him.

“So if I sit back down on that cesspool of a couch,” said Sakusa, “you’ll leave me alone.”

“Excuse you, that’s a great couch. I stole it from Osamu last time he moved, and I totally sprayed it down this morning so there wouldn’t be germs or whatever.” Atsumu said it proudly. He’d made an effort and he wanted it to be appreciated. “And yeah, I’ll leave you alone. I’ll stay all the way on my side. I swear.”

Sakusa eyed him as if he didn’t trust a single word of that. But the silence wasn’t hard-edged, and Atsumu thought he was about to agree.

“Fine,” said Sakusa. “Choose a movie. If it’s awful, I’m leaving.” He turned to return to the furthest end of the couch, and Atsumu pumped a fist in triumph. 

He then realized Sakusa was still looking at him and he tried to play that off like he hadn’t done it at all.

Atsumu plopped down on the couch, pointedly keeping to the extreme end away from Sakusa. In a perfect world he would be sitting a lot closer, but the world wasn’t perfect, and it was a miracle Sakusa was there at all. Atsumu would take what he could get. He scrolled through a selection of movies, glancing at Sakusa each time he hovered over an option, trying to gauge his reaction. Sakusa’s face never changed, but Atsumu felt that he could sense varying levels of distaste radiating off of him. He settled for something he’d never heard of that belonged to the suspense genre, and when Sakusa didn’t immediately walk out, he guessed he’d made a good choice.

They sat in awkward silence for fifteen minutes. It may have gone on longer, if Sakusa hadn’t turned his head to say, “Stop staring at me.”

Atsumu hadn’t realized he’d been doing it. He locked his attention onto the tv screen and said, “I’m not.”

Sakusa exhaled through his nose and said nothing.

Time dragged. The plot of the movie lost Atsumu somewhere around the first half hour, and he had no idea what was happening. There were too many time skips forward and then back again, and he kept forgetting what year it was supposed to be. 

“If you get bored,” said Atsumu, “we can watch something else. No big deal.”

“That’s not necessary. It’s interesting.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows rose. He glanced at Sakusa, skeptical. 

“That was a joke,” said Sakusa. “Turn it off. It’s terrible.”

Atsumu laughed, and he realized only then just how tense he’d gotten. His stiffness melted away as he stopped the movie and offered the remote to Sakusa, who didn’t reach out to take it. Atsumu placed it on the empty couch cushion between them. “You pick, then,” he said. He leaned back, arms behind his head, and grinned over at Sakusa. “I don’t know what you like.”

“I don’t like movies,” said Sakusa. His arms were still crossed over his chest, but they weren’t as tightly folded as before. When he’d first gotten there his spine had been too straight, as if he was afraid that if he relaxed into Atsumu’s couch, it would swallow him whole. His posture was still good, as usual, but his shoulders had slumped a little. He looked as comfortable as he ever did, which wasn’t very, but Atsumu thought it was progress.

“You shoulda said so.” Atsumu pulled a knee onto the couch, but still kept his distance. “We can do somethin’ else.”

“Such as?”

Atsumu scrambled for something to say that wasn’t overly suggestive. It took him longer than it should have. “I borrowed ‘Samu’s Playstation last time I was at his place. You like games?”

“Not particularly.”

Atsumu frowned, tilted his head back to watch the ceiling. “Uhh… You like card games? We could play…” He nearly bit his tongue as he forced himself not to say  _ strip poker _ . “Umm. Blackjack? Or… something.”

Sakusa’s stare was flat. “You’re trying too hard.”

“I just want you to be entertained,” said Atsumu, flailing his hands a little helplessly. “If you die of boredom you’ll never come back!”

“Who says I’m ever coming back anyway?”

“Well there’s a better chance if you’re not miserable,” said Atsumu. “C’mon. What do you like to do? Anything.”

Sakusa settled back a little more comfortably. Atsumu was ridiculously pleased by that. 

“I usually just watch the news,” said Sakusa. “Or other teams’ matches. Or read a book.”

Atsumu could endure one of those three options, and he scooped up the remote again. “Got it. The Red Falcons match, then. They played yesterday while we were at practice so I haven’t watched it yet.”

Sakusa didn’t say anything, but his eyes were on the television, and his silence didn’t feel like a bad one.

“D’you want a snack or somethin’?” asked Atsumu. “Or we can order in. Whatever.”

“I ate earlier.”

Atsumu shrugged and hauled himself off of the couch to rummage through the kitchen. He returned with a bag of almonds, and Sakusa glared at him every time he crunched into one. Eventually though, after several offers, Sakusa finally gave in and plucked one out of the bag. Atsumu blinked at him, surprised, but quickly looked away before Sakusa could catch him staring again.

“He’s good,” said Sakusa, watching the screen. “Your friend Aran.”

“Yeah, he is.” Atsumu grinned and tossed his almonds aside, folding his legs underneath him. “I wish we were on the same team. We did great together back in high school.” A moment later he rushed to add, “Not that I’d rather have him instead of you. I wouldn’t. You’re the best spiker we’ve got, Omi. I mean, Bokuto is really good too, obviously, but you’re-”

“Stop talking,” said Sakusa, not looking at him. “You don’t have to compliment me.”

Atsumu considered that. He swiveled to face Sakusa, a grin cutting across his face. “Why not, Omi-Omi? You don’t wanna hear about how great your spikes are? Or how you could snap a man’s neck with your serve if you hit him just right? Or how the first time I saw you play I was mad as hell because how dare you be that damn good and not be hittin’ my sets?”

Sakusa turned away from the tv, his stare flat. “You can’t win me over with compliments, Miya.”

“Wasn’t tryin’ to,” said Atsumu, still grinning. “Don’t need to. You’re in my apartment. I already won.”

“I’ll go, then.”

“Wait!” 

Sakusa was halfway off of the couch as Atsumu lunged for him. Sakusa froze, but Atsumu yanked his hand back at the last second, nearly toppling into the floor as he withdrew. Atsumu blinked up at him, sinking back onto his side of the couch.

“Sorry. Got carried away. Don’t leave, Omi, I was just jokin’. I’ll stop if you stay.”

Sakusa studied him, long enough that Atsumu thought he would leave anyway.

But Sakusa sank back down, and Atsumu’s next breath tasted of relief.

“Why do you even want me to stay?” asked Sakusa. “You can sit here and watch the match on your own.”

“Well yeah, but it’s better with you here. You’re good company.”

“No,” said Sakusa flatly, “I’m not.”

Atsumu shrugged. “Sure you are. I like having you around.”

Sakusa’s nose crunched. It usually did that when he was disgusted, but Atsumu thought this was different. He looked perplexed. “Why?”

Atsumu’s first instinct was to say something dumb, because that was always easier than being serious. But Sakusa was looking at him, closely enough that Atsumu felt transparent. 

“I already said.” Atsumu shrugged again, shifting to pull his knees against his chest. “I like when you’re around, Omi.” Atsumu devoted his attention to the tv, although he was less concerned with the match and more focused on the way he could still feel Sakusa’s stare drilling into him. 

“Stop starin’ at me,” said Atsumu with a curving smile, echoing Sakusa’s words from earlier. 

“I’m just trying to figure out what’s wrong with you.”

“Ask ‘Samu,” said Atsumu. “He’ll make you a list.”

Sakusa shifted and settled back against the couch. Atsumu flicked a glance toward him to make sure he wasn’t staring anymore, and was slightly disappointed to find that he wasn’t.

Atsumu looped his arms around his knees and focused on the match again. He already knew the Falcons had won, but watching them win was different than just knowing. Sakusa was right. Aran was an amazing player. Atsumu really did wish that they’d ended up on the same team again.

But he’d been serious when he’d said he wouldn’t trade Sakusa for him. He wouldn’t trade Sakusa for anyone, and not just because he was the best spiker on the team.

“If I use your bathroom, will I contract any fatal diseases?” asked Sakusa.

“Nah, non-fatal only.”

“That’s comforting.” Sakusa rose and crossed the room to disappear into Atsumu’s small bathroom. Atsumu watched him go, still a little stunned that Sakusa had agreed to come over at all.

He wondered if he would agree to come back sometime. Atsumu would have to think of something better to do, so Sakusa wouldn’t get bored.

A few minutes and likely a furious session of hand-washing later (Atsumu had bought new soap earlier in the day, the kind he knew Sakusa liked best), Sakusa returned. He approached the couch, hesitated, and sat back down. But not in the extreme corner, where he’d secluded himself before. He sat on the middle cushion, close enough that Atsumu could have reached out and dragged his fingertips along the strong, lean lean of his forearm. 

Sakusa, facing straight ahead, said, “If you say anything about it, I’m gone.”

Atsumu hid his grin against his knees and didn’t say a word.

They watched most of the match like that, sitting close enough that Atsumu could almost  _ feel _ Sakusa. It was like a tingle beneath his skin, an itch to touch him, to feel the warmth of him against searching fingertips. 

Atsumu had never wanted to touch someone so badly in his life. There was irony there, that Atsumu wanted to touch the one man in his life who refused to be touched.

This would be easier with someone else. Anyone else.

But Atsumu never settled for things that were easy.

“Hey, Omi?”

“What?”

A cheer rose up in the background. One of the teams must have scored. Atsumu didn’t know, because he wasn’t watching the screen. “If you ever decide kissin’ me might not be the worst thing you’ve ever done, let me know.”

Sakusa glanced to the side but immediately away again, when he found Atsumu already looking at him. 

“I mean, you did fuck me,” said Atsumu conversationally. “Compared to that, kissin’ should be-”

“Every single day,” said Sakusa, cutting him off, “you make me regret that a little bit more.”

Atsumu continued watching him. “You mean that?”

Sakusa didn’t answer.

Atsumu thought that meant  _ No _ .

Silence fell between them again, and Atsumu wondered what it would be like to hold Sakusa’s hand. The same as holding anyone else’s hand, probably, but somehow Atsumu thought it would be different. Better. Sakusa had long, thin fingers. Atsumu wondered if they were longer than his own. He wondered if Sakusa had calluses, the same as him, and if his nails broke easily, the same as his. He wondered if all the hand-washing that Sakusa did made his palms dry.

“I brushed my teeth, you know,” said Atsumu, still studying Sakusa’s hands, “before you got here. I can brush them again. I don’t mind.”

“Shut up, Miya.”

Atsumu did, but not without effort. He liked to talk, especially when he was anxious. It was a defense mechanism, one that had shaped his extraversion into a defining piece of his personality.

On screen, Aran spiked a pinpoint straight right inside the edge of the opponent’s court. He raised his fist, and although Atsumu couldn’t hear his voice through the tv, he heard it clearly in his head.

But not as clearly as he heard Sakusa’s voice when he said, “One time only.”

Atsumu sat up slowly, his feet flopping back down to the floor. He turned his head to look at Sakusa, cautious, as if trying not to spook a wild animal. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I thought I did but it might’ve been an auditory hallucination.”

“One. Time. Only.” Sakusa said it without looking at him, but his eyes weren’t focused on the tv, either. 

“Okay,” said Atsumu. “One time. Got it.”

“And don’t touch me. I’ll touch you.”

Tiny sparks burst in all of Atsumu’s nerve endings. “Yeah. Sure.” His voice sounded a little reedy. “Whatever you say, Omi.”

It was with seemingly great effort that Sakusa moved, turning his body to face Atsumu, looking at him with the same contemplative expression that he got when he was gauging the trajectory of a spike. 

“Close your eyes,” said Sakusa.

Atsumu almost made a comment about that, something witty and sarcastic and probably inappropriate. But he was afraid even the slightest mistake would make Sakusa change his mind so he kept the words to himself and closed his eyes as he’d been told.

Atsumu held his breath. His mouth tingled in anticipation, and he wondered if Sakusa was serious about this or if it was just a joke, if he was going to sit back and laugh at Atsumu for believing it. 

But there was a touch against his jaw, light fingertips that were cool and dry and cautious. Atsumu sucked in a breath. He almost flinched, and almost leaned into it, but ultimately made himself sit perfectly still.

Sakusa was touching him. He was doing it on purpose, and it must have been because he actually wanted to. There was no other reason.

Atsumu thought maybe this was even better than the sex.

There was a breath against Atsumu’s lips, a feeling of warmth that made him think Sakusa was close, closer than he’d ever been. Atsumu wanted to look. He wanted to see how dark Sakusa’s eyes looked up close, if he could see his individual eyelashes, if that deep crease that often appeared between Sakusa’s brows was there now.

But he kept his eyes closed, and waited, and tried to keep as still as possible.

Sakusa’s lips touched his, just barely, so soft that Atsumu thought he may have imagined it altogether.

The feather-light touch disappeared and Atsumu thought that was it, that he wasn’t getting anything else.

Then Sakusa’s mouth pressed against Atsumu’s again, more firmly, and it definitely wasn’t his imagination.

Atsumu’s hand twitched toward Sakusa but he yanked it back, clutching at the leg of his own pants instead. He couldn’t do anything wrong. If he did Sakusa would stop, and Atsumu needed this to last as long as possible.

Sakusa peeled back, hovered, leaned in again. His fingers traced the edge of Atsumu’s jaw, slipping back toward his ear, tickling at the long pieces of his hair. Atsumu shivered, almost whined, but stayed perfectly motionless.

When Sakusa pulled away again, it was with a sense of finality. His hand fell away, and Atsumu opened his eyes in time to catch a glimpse of Sakusa, so close that he could see the faintest hint of amber stippling the void of Sakusa’s irises. 

Sakusa sat back and Atsumu stared at him, his heartbeat loud in his ears, mouth tingling like he’d smeared salonpas on his lips. 

Sakusa touched a fingertip to his own bottom lip, pensively.

“Well?” said Atsumu. His voice was weaker than he would have preferred, a little breathless. 

“Well what?”

“How was it?”

Sakusa seemed to consider that for a moment before saying, “Nothing special.”

Atsumu’s mouth fell open. He started to protest, but the complaints died on his tongue as he realized there was a slight quirk at the corner of Sakusa’s mouth; not quite a smile, but almost. If he looked closely, he almost thought there was a faint touch of color high on Sakusa’s cheekbones. Atsumu didn’t think it had been there before.

“Let’s try again, then,” said Atsumu. He pulled a knee beneath himself and sat up a little taller. “Until it is special.”

“I told you one time only.”

“It’s okay if you lied,” said Atsumu. “I won’t tell anyone.”

The match was still rolling in the background, and something impressive must have happened based on the sudden screech of applause, but neither of them were watching. 

Atsumu leaned in slowly, gradually. He stopped before he reached Sakusa, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other pressed safely against his own thigh so he wouldn’t reach out. “Can I?”

Sakusa swallowed. Atsumu watched the twitch of his throat.

“I won’t touch you,” said Atsumu. “Hands to myself. I swear.”

“I don’t trust you, Miya,” said Sakusa. Still, he moved the slightest bit closer, not looking away from Atsumu, as if transfixed.

“You should,” said Atsumu. “I’m very trustworthy.”

“Liar.”

“Nah. It’s the truth. You can trust me with anything, Omi. I swear.”

Sakusa seemed to weigh his honesty. It took some time, several seconds that stretched into a dozen. Atsumu waited. He wasn’t patient by nature, but he thought he could be, for Sakusa.

“One time,” said Sakusa. He sounded even less like he meant it than he had the first time.

“Okay.” Atsumu’s voice was so low that it was nearly a whisper as he leaned closer. “Just one time.”

The way Atsumu kissed was more direct, more confident, but still careful. He didn’t push, didn’t kiss Sakusa into the couch like he would have with anyone else, didn’t try to coax him into anything more. He kept it chaste, soft, even though he was starving for more, even though he wanted to taste Sakusa’s skin until he’d memorized every inch of it. Sakusa was stiff at first, but he thawed enough to kiss Atsumu back, his mouth pliant, his breath warm against Atsumu’s cheek. There was a drag of lips, the slightest graze of tongue that sent a stab of heat directly into Atsumu’s gut, and then it was over. Atsumu sat back against the arm of the couch, hyperaware of the scalding flush on his face. 

Atsumu tried to speak, took another shallow breath and tried again. “How about that? Special?”

The tips of Sakusa’s ears were red. There was something about his eyes that made them seem darker than usual, but Atsumu thought maybe it was just in his head. 

“It… wasn’t terrible,” said Sakusa.

“Yeah?” asked Atsumu. Something twisted in his chest, and it wasn’t unpleasant. That was the least complimentary thing someone had said about his kissing, but somehow it was also the best. “Wanna do it again?”

“I said one time only.”

“Yeah, but you said it twice.”

“Miya.”

“Okay, okay.” Atsumu wasn’t about to push his luck. He plopped back down on the couch, sitting straight again, but his eyes were still on Sakusa. “But you didn’t hate it.”

Sakusa didn’t answer.

“Which means you probably don’t hate me.”

“Not mutually exclusive.”

“But you don’t though, right?” pressed Atsumu. “You don’t hate me.”

Sakusa glanced at him, stare lingering. “Yes. I do.”

Atsumu didn’t believe that. Not at all. He grinned as he said, “Sure you do, Omi.”

They let the topic fade away. Atsumu stared at the tv, but he didn’t know what was happening. His brain only had room for one thing, and that was the taste of Sakusa’s lips.

“You should come over again sometime,” said Atsumu, after a while. He realized the match was winding down, that he was about to run out of excuses to have Sakusa stay. “We can watch another game. Or shit, I’ll even read a stupid book, if that’s what you want.”

“Your intelligence continues to amaze me.”

“Aww, thanks.” 

Sakusa made a face, and Atsumu laughed.

“Maybe we can kiss again,” said Atsumu, his grin pulling higher. “You know, practice. Until it’s better than  _ not terrible _ .”

“It will always be terrible,” said Sakusa, “because you’re involved, and you’re always terrible.”

“That should be an insult,” said Atsumu, “but the way you’re sayin’ it sounds like a compliment.”

Sakusa glanced up at the ceiling and back to the tv, so quickly that Atsumu barely registered that it had been an eye roll.

A few minutes passed. The game ended, with the Falcons taking a significant victory. Atsumu would have cheered, if he’d been paying attention to the match. But Sakusa was still his priority, and he said, “But really, Omi. Will you come over again?”

Sakusa considered that and finally said, “Maybe. If you have some decent food next time. And by that I mean order something, I refuse to eat any slop that you make yourself.”

“I offered to get you food and you said you ate already!”

“I did,” said Sakusa. “Next time I won’t.”

Atsumu huffed and slouched back against the couch. “Fine,” he said, injecting just the right amount of childishness into his tone. “If you’re only using me for food you can just say so, Omi.”

Sakusa didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. He knew Atsumu wasn’t serious.

And Atsumu wasn’t. He didn’t mind buying Sakusa food, or soap, or whatever he wanted. He would do anything he asked.

Because Sakusa had said “next time”, and Atsumu thought maybe he’d done something right.

  
  



End file.
